


Touching Reunion

by MuseofWriting



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Hands, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Memories, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuseofWriting/pseuds/MuseofWriting
Summary: Patroclus remembered Achilles's hands.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	Touching Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Had a request to do Patrochilles + hands when I was accepting Valentine's prompts and liked what I came up with, so I added a paragraph, did a couple clean up edits, and decided to throw it up here bc why not. Original fic thread [here](https://twitter.com/MuseofWriting/status/1361063294463795204?s=20).

Patroclus remembered Achilles’s hands.

In truth, he remembered them better than he remembered his face, the latter warping in his memory between the songs and the pottery and the battle helms and the jagged split in his own mind of the face he’d known in the tents at night and the hard lines of fury and ferocity he’d seen among the troops. Everyone had their own ideas of Achilles’s face, his golden hair, his gleaming spear.

His hands, though, his hands belonged to Pat.

Scarred knuckles. Calluses all over. Palm lines that might have told Patroclus much about his own life, if he knew how to read them.

Sure grip, skillful fingers, clever and quick to learn. Hesitant touch, brushed against the back of Patroclus’s own hand when they were nothing but boys on a mountain, watching the birds come out to sing the first sunrise of spring. A terrifyingly gentle stroke down his jaw, drawing his face closer like a question, as if there could be any answer that wasn’t “yes.” Eager, curious, wanton things as they raked his chiton up above his hips and discovered what they could do to him. Every inch of them familiar to every inch of Pat.

He took them now between his own hands, making Achilles’s half-stuttered apology die on his lips, and saw they were trembling. He’d never seen them tremble like this before, with uncertain nerves, only in anger or anticipation or pleasure. Even in their early, fumbling days — both with each other and whenever Chiron gave them some new weapon or instrument for the first time — Achilles had always had a knack for knowing what he needed to do, an instinct for where to place his fingers and how to move them. Patroclus had felt eternally clumsy and slow by comparison. God-touched, Chiron had said. Achilles’s way through life was paved with blessings, gifted talent and luck and the best tutor in Greece to shape his clever mind and clever hands, all so he could stroll uninterrupted to the bloodshed and death the Fates had decreed he must deal and endure.

If Patroclus ever met the Fates, he was going to strangle them with their own threads.

Now, though, now there were no more prophecies or grand tragic destinies or gods or mortals with expectations. Now there was only them, only Achilles’s hands in Pat’s own, and they were trembling.

They were just barely translucent, in the way of shades, the color and shape of veins more memory than necessity. Solidity was no longer a default, requiring concentration from them both to keep their grip. But they were still, down to each nick and scar and callus, Achilles’s hands. His Achilles. His hands. Patroclus looked up.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, and heard his voice break on how easy it was to forgive him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed <3
> 
> Come find me:  
> tumblr: [@thatgirlonstage](https://thatgirlonstage.tumblr.com)  
> twitter: [@MuseofWriting](https://twitter.com/MuseofWriting)


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